if the apocalypse comes, beep me
by splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Geralt's a Witcher - one of few who are trained to fight the nightmares that the modern world doesn't know exists. The only people who know are his Watcher, and Yennefer, his ex who happens to be a witch. Geralt's doing just fine balancing hunting and college courses, but when he runs into an unusual man with a (literally) magical voice, his world gets a bit more complicated.
1. don't stop me now

_A/N: Yes, this is a ridiculous Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover that's part crack and I don't even care. I know this makes me seem old af, but I watched Buffy back when it was on TV, and Willow Rosenburg was my very first girl crush (her "I think I'm kinda gay" line was very relatable)._

_Jaskier's in a Queen tribute band because... reasons. He's a dramatic bisexual who loves to wear ridiculous clothing and sing about sex, so I'd say the resemblance to Freddie Mercury is quite strong. I'm also a *huge* Queen fan, so there's that._

_The title is a reference to one of my favorite Buffy quotes that dates the show back to 1997 when everyone had pagers. Fun times._

* * *

The last place Geralt expects to come across an incubus is at Pride.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. A crowded, dark bar full of horny college students grinding against each other is the perfect environment for a demon of lust. It's also the last place Geralt wants to be.

"Can we leave now?" he grumbles, elbowing Yennefer and tipping his head toward the door. She rolls her eyes at him, then tosses back a shot of something bright blue and smacks his shoulder.

"Oh, come on," she shouts over the din of the music. "You promised you wouldn't be a grumpy asshole tonight."

Geralt grunts, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the crowd. They're on the second floor of the club, sitting at a tiny table with a plate of chicken wings and several beers between them. Geralt's had four now, and he's still not buzzed enough to deal with this shit.

"At least I'm not making you dance," Yenn says as she kicks his shin under the table. Geralt rolls his eyes. He's already put up with a parade today, and if Yenn thinks there's any way in hell she could convince him to dance, she's got another thing coming.

The music from the band on stage fades out and Geralt winces at the squeal of feedback as someone steps up to the microphone. "Give it up for The Witching Hour!"

Yennefer cheers, uncharacteristically excited as she stares down at the stage. Geralt rolls his eyes – he knows she's checking out the lead singer, some redhead whose name he should probably know, but doesn't. Yenn talks about her constantly, and Geralt tends to tune her out.

"Now, please welcome our Queen tribute band – It's A Kind of Magic!"

A new group takes the stage – some other band dressed in bright colors that Geralt doesn't pay attention to. He turns back to his beer, sipping it and wishing he could close his ears as well as his eyes.

Then the music starts, and Geralt's medallion starts to thrum.

His eyes fly open and he leans forward on the table, immediately on edge. His gaze jumps between the members of the band, dismissing them all until he gets to the lead singer. He's dressed ridiculously – bright red pants that look like they're nearly painted on and a black leather jacket with nothing underneath – and he looks vaguely familiar.

"Isn't that the guy from your Latin class that you have a crush on?" Yennefer asks.

Geralt glares at her, then taps at his medallion and nods back at the stage. Yenn's eyes widen and she's immediately vigilant as well, eyes scanning the crowd.

"It's him," Geralt says, gesturing to the singer. Yenn's right, the man – Jaskier – is in his Latin class, but Geralt absolutely does _not _have a crush on him. He's got ridiculous, floppy hair and baby blue eyes, and talks so much that his voice grates on Geralt's nerves. His singing, however… well, it's magical. Literally.

_I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky  
like a tiger  
defying the laws of gravity…_

Jaskier's voice is clear and flawless – and, Geralt has to admit, he does sound quite a bit like Freddie Mercury. He's grinning at the crowd, gyrating his hips ridiculously and winking at everyone in the front of the crowd. And everyone is staring at him, still dancing in a frantic revel, but seemingly unable to look away, as if enchanted by him.

Geralt's pretty sure they are. Jaskier's voice is hypnotic, jumping octaves as he tugs the microphone towards him and belts out the lyrics.

"Are you sure?" Yenn asks, nudging Geralt's elbow. "He doesn't look very dangerous."

"Monsters aren't always sharp teeth and claws," Geralt mutters. "Stay here."

Yenn starts to argue but he ignores her, standing and moving toward the spiral staircase that will take him down to the main floor. Even he can feel the pull of whatever magic Jaskier is radiating, which is both unusual and worrying.

_Don't stop me now  
I'm having such a good time  
I'm having a ball  
Don't stop me now  
if you wanna have a good time  
just gimme a call_

Geralt's made it halfway to the stage when the song ends. The entire room seems to exhale, and it takes a minute for everyone to come back to themselves and start to applaud. Jaskier grins at them, waving and taking a small bow before grabbing a bottle of water and taking a swig.

He's not singing anymore, but Geralt's medallion doesn't stop humming.

* * *

Jaskier waves to the crowd one last time before disappearing backstage with the rest of the band. His sweaty hair clings to the back of his neck and he's breathing heavily, still high on the excitement of the performance.

"They loved you!" Jenna, the guitarist, claps Jaskier's shoulder and grins at him.

"They always do, darling," Jaskier says with a wink. He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking out the sweat, then steps toward the fan at the back of the room, exhaling in relief as the cool air touches his face.

"Hey, gorgeous." Jaskier raises an eyebrow, turning to see a young man leaning against the door to the back room. He's the one that Jaskier should be calling gorgeous – tight shirt dipping down to show off a collarbone dusted with glitter, dark eyes, dark hair tied back in a ponytail with a few strands escaping to frame his face.

"Hey, yourself," Jaskier says, moving toward the man and making it very obvious that he's eyeing him up. "Enjoy the show?"

"Absolutely," he murmurs, reaching out and touching Jaskier's cheek. "Couldn't keep my eyes off you."

The press of fingertips on his cheek sends something pulsing through Jaskier, but it's not the arousal he was hoping for. Instead, it thrums through him, dark red and dangerous.

_Of course, _he thinks. _Can't ever just be a pretty boy, can it? _

"You're not too bad looking yourself," he says out loud, stepping into the man's space and sliding a hand into his hair. The man bites lip, looking up at Jaskier as his hand drifts down to his hip. "Wanna go somewhere a little more… private?"

The man doesn't answer, just pulls away and grabs Jaskier's hand, tugging him out into the dark hallway that leads to the club's washrooms. Half the lights are burnt out back here, and Jaskier catches glimpses of the man in the sharp pulses of neon light from the front of the club. He really does have a nice ass, and Jaskier sighs mournfully.

At least the rest of the club is filled with other attractive men – and women – that he can fool around with once he's taken care of this.

"Come here," the man purrs, turning and grabbing the lapel of Jaskier's leather coat and pulling him close. He stumbles forward, letting the man tug him into a kiss that's hot and messy and not at all unpleasant. Jaskier kisses back, sliding one hand down to the man's hip until he's pressed up against Jaskier's bare chest.

A slight pull of magic appears wherever the man touches him, and Jaskier pushes back against it, shoving him against the wall. He gasps, and Jaskier feels a smile against his lips – and then there are sharp teeth behind the kiss, and the magic pulls harder.

"I really wish you wouldn't," he sighs, before dropping the dagger from the sleeve of his coat and thrusting it into the man's chest.

* * *

Geralt growls, pushing people out of his way as he stalks through the crowd, trying to find the source of the magic that's affecting his medallion. He's still suspicious of Jaskier and his enthralling voice, but the band is gone now and he's still sensing danger. It tugs at him like a thread, pulling him away from the stage and toward the washrooms.

He sighs, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text to Yenn.

_It's near the washrooms, might need a memory spell or two if it gets messy. _

All he gets back is an eyeroll emoji.

The lights start to flash around him as a new band starts up, bass pounding in his chest and making it hard to focus on the magic. Geralt growls, shoving another group of people with their hands all over each other to the side. Eventually he makes it to the hallway with the bathroom, and the thrumming of the medallion gets stronger. He's about to open the washroom door when he looks down the hallway.

_Fuck. _

It's Jaskier, making out with some guy against the wall, and if seeing that does funny things to Geralt's stomach he ignores it. What's important right now is that the guy that Jaskier is kissing is not, in fact, a man – he's an incubus. Geralt can see through the ponytail and the tight pants to the demon underneath, and the incubus is getting ready to suck out Jaskier's soul through the kiss.

"For fuck's sake."

Geralt takes a step forward, hand going to summon his sword, when suddenly Jaskier drops a dagger from his sleeve and stabs the man in the chest.

Geralt freezes, watching as Jaskier gives the incubus an apologetic look and twists the blade. The demon shudders, eyes wide as he stares down at the handle of the dagger, then curses as his body starts to dissolve into thin threads of black smoke. It only takes a second for him to disappear completely, sucked into the blade and banished back to the netherworld.

"What," Geralt says, staring at Jaskier, "the fuck."

Jaskier jumps, quickly sliding the dagger back up his sleeve and turning to Geralt with an uncertain smile on his face. Up close, Geralt can see that he's wearing makeup, glitter smudged down across his chest, and a trans pride button is pinned to the lapel of his jacket.

"Look," Jaskier says, "that definitely wasn't what it looked like." Geralt doesn't answer, just stares at him. He's certainly not a Witcher – Geralt would recognize him if he was – and Yenn would have told him if Jaskier was a sorcerer.

"What are you?" Geralt growls.

"Nobody," Jaskier says quickly, giving Geralt a wan smile. "I mean, not nobody, obviously, but it's a very long story that you probably aren't going to believe. And I don't think we have time for it, because that demon probably came with a partner and I need to find them before some poor idiot gets their soul sucked out through their mouth. Or cock. Neither would surprise me at this point."

Geralt frowns, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement. His medallion is still thrumming faintly and Jaskier is right – incubi and succubi usually travel in pairs. But Geralt's supposed to be the only one who knows about this kind of stuff.

Jaskier sighs. "I hate doing this," he mutters, taking a step toward Geralt and murmuring under his breath. _"Heed my voice and listen well, on this memory you'll not dwell, take the vision fraught with fear, forget the things that you've seen here." _His voice is low and quiet, and the hypnotic melody is back. A heady magic mixes with the words, tugging at Geralt's mind and making the medallion thrum harder.

"What the hell," he growls, taking a step toward Jaskier, "do you think you're doing?"

Jaskier frowns, gaze skipping from Geralt's eyes to his hand that's hovering over his hip, waiting for the incantation to summon his sword. Then Jaskier sees the outline of the medallion under Geralt's shirt and his eyes widen.

"You're a Witcher," he says, the magic in his voice replaced by excitement. "My Gran told me about you. That's why the magic doesn't work."

Geralt hesitates, bewildered by the fact that Jaskier knows what he is, and that he isn't frightened by it. "How do you—"

"I'll explain as soon as we find the other one," Jaskier says quickly, looking over Geralt's shoulder and back into the crowd. "Do you know where it is? That's what the necklace is for, right? You can use your… Witcher senses or whatever you call them to find monsters."

"I found _you," _Geralt growls.

"Well, yes," Jaskier admits, putting his hands on his hips. "But I'm not a monster. Well, I guess if we're being technical, I am, but it's more complicated than that, and we don't really have time for my whole tragic backstory right now."

"I can't trust you."

"I just killed a demon for you," Jaskier argues. "Clearly I'm on your side. And if I was planning on committing some monstrous atrocity, do you really think I'd be wearing this—" he gestures at his leather pants "—while singing about fat bottomed girls?"

"The only monstrous atrocity here is that outfit." A voice comes from behind Geralt and he turns, relieved to see Yenn standing behind him. She's got her arms crossed over her chest and her expression is more amused than concerned.

"You take that back," Jaskier says indignantly. "I'll have you know this is a replica of the exact outfit Freddie wore on—"

"Enough." Geralt grinds his teeth. "We'll deal with the demon first. Yenn, bind him."

"Hmm, try again?"

Geralt sighs. "Yenn, can you please bind the unidentified monster so he can't run away?"

"Better," Yennefer says. She holds out one hand, palm towards Jaskier, and quickly murmurs, _"By air and earth, by water and fire, so be you bound as I desire." _

Jaskier laughs. "That's cute, darling," he says, then shakes his head. "It won't work on me, but I promise I won't run."

Yenn doesn't react, but Geralt's known her long enough to catch the twitch of annoyance and surprise in her jaw.

"You're sticking with me," Geralt says, stepping forward and grabbing Jaskier's arm. "Once this is over, you and I are having a talk."

"Looking forward to it," Jaskier says lightly. "Now, are we going to kill a demon or not?"


	2. the prophet's song

Jaskier's right. The demons did come in a pair, and they find the succubus in the alley behind the bar, making out with a punk girl with green hair and more piercings than Geralt's ever seen on a person.

It's a quick fight – Yenn winds her magic and convinces the girl to go back inside and forget the entire thing, and Geralt beheads the succubus before she can run away. She dissolves into the same black smoke as her partner and Geralt's medallion immediately stops thrumming.

"Impressive." Jaskier, who is leaning against the wall a short distance away, grins at Geralt. "Those muscles aren't just for looks, then?"

"Shut up," Geralt growls. "Now we need to deal with you." His sword is still in his hand and he levels it at Jaskier, stepping forward until the tip rests right in the hollow of Jaskier's throat.

Jaskier doesn't blink.

"You're not going to kill me," he says, and the glibness in his voice makes Geralt want to kick him in the teeth.

"And what makes you so convinced of that?"

"You need me."

Geralt looks back at Yenn with his eyebrows raised. "Did I miss something? Is this some sort of…" He turns back to Jaskier and narrows his eyes. "Who the fuck are you and how the hell do you know who—what—I am?"

"It's a long story," Jaskier says, and the expression on his face is almost bored. "I'd love to tell you all about it, but perhaps we can go somewhere less…" He gestures vaguely around the alley. "And you don't need this." He has the _audacity _to reach up and tap Geralt's blade at his throat. "I'm not your enemy, and I'm not going to run."

Yenn's hand lands on Geralt's shoulder and squeezes gently. "He's telling the truth," she says. "At least about the running bit."

Geralt keeps his blade level as he studies Jaskier's face. He doesn't look like much of a threat, but Geralt _did _just see him stab someone – the fact that it was a demon is irrelevant. But now, in the dim orange light of the alley, with his floppy hair and ridiculous leather jacket and bare chest…

Geralt sighs, dropping the incantation and watching the blade dissipate. The he looks back at Yenn, who shrugs and gestures toward the back lot where Geralt's car is parked.

"I don't trust you," Geralt mutters, stalking forward and grabbing Jaskier's arm. Up close he smells strange – like the beach at night, like ocean salt and a cool breeze. "You're coming with us until I can figure out what the fuck you are and where the hell you came from."

"Well, I've never complained about being manhandled by a man in leather before," Jaskier says, winking at Geralt. "And I'm not about to start now."

* * *

Jaskier is obnoxious. For one thing, he doesn't shut up for the entire drive back to the library. Yennefer sits in the back with him to keep him from doing anything suspicious, and Geralt can see in the rearview mirror that she's ready to strangle him a minute into the drive. Unfortunately, her silencing spells don't seem to work on him, so the two of them are forced to suffer through his monologues until they arrive.

The second obnoxious thing about Jaskier is that's he's really fucking attractive. Even in the stupid outfit and ridiculous pants, he's still hot as hell and Geralt hates him for it. It's been a while since he's been with anyone, and the horny part of his brain wants to push Jaskier up against the nearest wall and shut him up with a hot kiss and a hand down his pants. The other part of him insists that he does _not _fuck monsters, even pretty ones with eyes the color of the ocean.

When they finally get to the library, Geralt's relieved to see that the lights are on. Vesemir doesn't technically live here, but he might as well – Geralt's not sure he's ever seen the man leave.

"A library?" Jaskier asks as Geralt grabs his arm and drags him out of the car. "Quaint. I was expecting something more…" He drags his gaze up Geralt's chest and Geralt growls at him, shoving him forward and ignoring the way his hair curls around the back of his neck.

Vesemir barely looks up from his book when they enter the library. "Why are you bringing monsters back here?" he asks mildly.

"Because he appears to be on our side," Yennefer says, hopping up on the desk and crossing her arms. "He killed an incubus."

Vesemir raises an eyebrow and finally looks at Jaskier, who stumbles forward as Geralt lets go of his arm and shoves him toward Vesemir. "Ow," Jaskier grumbles, rubbing at his bicep. "I don't mind being roughed up, but I'd rather not have an audience."

"Shut _up," _Yenn and Geralt groan at the same time.

Vesemir stands from the desk and moves toward Jaskier, who stands his ground despite Vesemir being one of the most intimidating people Geralt's ever met. They stare each other down for a minute, and eventually Vesemir grabs Jaskier's wrists and turns his hands palm-up.

"Hm."

"Oh, excellent," Jaskier says, not pulling away. "You're just as eloquent as your protégé."

"You talk enough for both of them," Yennefer says, tossing a balled-up piece of paper at Jaskier's head. "Their silence is blessed."

Jaskier looks like he's about to retaliate when Vesemir nods and lets go of his hands, then says, "Sing."

Geralt frowns at the odd request, but Jaskier doesn't look surprised. "I do take requests," he says, grinning. Geralt thinks for a second that he sees a flash of sharp teeth. "Anything in particular?"

Vesemir gives him an unimpressed look and Jaskier sighs. "No appreciation for talent," he mutters, then winks at Geralt and starts to sing.

_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things  
we can do the tango just for two  
I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings  
be your Valentino just for you _

There's that pull again – the hypnotic warmth that tangles with Jaskier's voice and slips beneath Geralt's skin, making both his medallion and his blood thrum. The rest of the room starts to slowly fade away, blurring at the edges until all Geralt can see is Jaskier and the blue of his eyes.

"Enough," Vesemir interrupts, and a part of Geralt protests when the veil of enchantment dissolves and he's left staring at a very ordinary, albeit incredibly attractive man.

"You're a siren," Yennefer says. Geralt glances over at her and is comforted to see that she's shaking off the effects of the magic as well.

"Part siren," Jaskier corrects. "If I was a full-blooded siren, you'd be doing whatever I wanted right about now."

"Aren't all sirens women?" Geralt asks.

"First of all," Jaskier says, crossing his arms and leaning back against a table, "that's racist." Geralt glares at him and Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Second of all, yes, most sirens are female, but I wasn't always this handsome."

It clearly takes Geralt too long to piece together what Jaskier's saying because Yennefer smacks the back of his head and says, "He's trans, you idiot."

Geralt frowns, tipping his head to the side as he takes in the scars on Jaskier's chest and the pin on his lapel again. Jaskier laughs and there's a tiny pull behind the sound, a soft whisper of the sea.

"It's okay," he says, mostly to Yennefer. "He's the brawn and you're the brains, am I right?"

Geralt's about to show Jaskier exactly what kind of brawn he is when Vesemir holds up his hands for silence. "How do you know about Witchers?" he asks Jaskier.

"My Gran," Jaskier says. He hops up on the table and crosses his arms over his chest, shivering. "Any chance I can get something more practical to wear? Your handsome friend here manhandled me away from my regular wardrobe before I could change."

Geralt sighs, tugging off the sweater he's wearing and tossing it at Jaskier's head. It leaves him in only a thin t-shirt, but the cold doesn't bother him. Jaskier shrugs off the leather jacket and pulls Geralt's sweater on, and Geralt tries hard not to let the sight of Jaskier in his clothes bother him.

Jaskier makes himself comfortable, crossing his legs and tucking his hands into the sleeves of the sweater before continuing. "So. My Gran was a full-blood siren, mum was half, which makes me a quarter, I guess. Just enough to enthrall a room with my lovely voice. Or occasionally get someone weak-willed to do what I want. Like the Force, I guess."

When everyone stares at him, he sighs, then waves his hand in the air. _"These aren't the droids you're looking for, _that sort of thing. Ugh, you're a dull crowd."

"You manipulate people," Geralt says, ignoring Jaskier's comments.

"Not people, no," Jaskier says, shaking his head. "Monster, mostly – werewolves, vampires, things like that. I'm sure you're familiar."

"Obviously," Yennefer says, rolling her eyes.

Jaskier studies her for a moment, head tilted to the side in a strangely endearing manner. "You're a witch," he says eventually. "An actual one, too. That spell you used – it was real."

"Of course it was real," Yennefer says, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "And it should have worked on you."

"Most magic doesn't," Jaskier says, shrugging. "Gran said it's because of the siren blood – magic against magic, all that."

"We don't have any records of Sirens for hundreds of years," Vesemir says, tapping a thick tome on the table. "But you're barely—"

"One hundred and thirty-seven," Jaskier says lightly. "I know, I don't look a day over ninety. It's the skincare routine."

"You're immortal?" Geralt asks, frowning.

"Not _immortal, _no," Jaskier admits. He looks back over at Geralt, eyes bright and gaze intense. "Just long-lived. My mum was nearly three hundred when she passed a couple years ago. Most of us live elsewhere, anyways – warmer climes, more sailors to lure to their deaths."

"You said you didn't—"

"I'm not lying," Jaskier insists. "I've never lured anyone to their death, I swear on my grandmother." He pauses. "I suppose _she _lured a few people to their deaths. Not my grandfather, though, and I'm honestly not certain _how _that happened, she'd never tell me about it."

Geralt rubs the bridge of his nose – this whole thing is starting to give him a headache. Monsters are for killing, not for… whatever it is they're doing with Jaskier right now.

"So," Yennefer says, leaning forward and giving Jaskier a calculating look. "You're part siren and you use your powers to pretend that you're Freddie Mercury."

"Maybe I _am _Freddie Mercury," Jaskier replies, grinning. "But yes. I love to sing and it's not hurting anyone. And every once in a while, I dispatch a monster back to the netherworld, thus fulfilling my part in the prophecy."

Everyone is silent for a moment, and then Vesemir asks the question that everyone in the room is thinking.

"What prophecy?"


End file.
